KKM 'Beloved'
by tigersilver
Summary: Yuuri and Wolfram are separated by 'Tradition' during the week before their wedding ceremony. Wild plans ensue!


KKM 'BELOVED'

At Bielefeld, the Lord of the Manor paced. It was not quite a full week before the wedding – five days, ten hours and twenty-two minutes to be precise – and here he was, observing tradition, losing his mind.

Here, to the mahogany desk where his father used to write letters long ago, including the ones sent courting his own Mama; there, to the cushioned bench chest in which the venerable von Bielefeld robes-of-state were stored, the very ones he would don to walk down the aisle. Here, to the window, to watch for Gwendal, who wouldn't come till tomorrow at the very earliest, to fulfill the role of required and traditional senior-male-of-the-family escort, accompanying his youngest sibling on the return journey to his marriage. There, to the small marble-topped table that held his precious color photograph of the Maou, the one he'd been given secretly by Jennifer-san three weeks ago, to trail his fingertips lovingly round the edges of the silver frame and pray for time's passing. Here, to the center of this vast and ornate room, to spin erratically within the confines of his prison and wish heartily to the various gods that Gunter had allowed him to put his foot down firmly on all this 'tradition' nonsense.

He'd been bundled off two days ago, above his own and Yuuri's muted protests, and borne away – no, he'd gone willingly enough, he supposed, as tradition _did_ require certain sacrifice – to stay here in seclusion at the House of his father's family for the requisite period before the wedding; to be the blushing, innocent, virginal spouse-in-waiting expected till the moment of the actual ceremony commenced.

He was packed and ready to return – had been within an hour of his sulky arrival – and now the only action required of the fiery young Lord von Bielefeld was patience.

And worry, because Yuuri was a cheater, and a wimp of the first magnitude, and Blood Pledge would be packed to the damned gills with noble _women_ in Wolfram's absence.

And yearn, because his canopied monster of a bed at Von Bielefeld Manor was cold and barren, and he, for one, couldn't catch a wink of sleep without the Maou beside him.

Back to Yuuri's photograph, his wimpy face grinning in Wolf's general direction from under the clinging arm of his overprotective older brother, Shori-sama. The boys had had their image rendered a year or so ago at some 'Ah-moose-ment Paahk' close by the Maou's tiny house on Earth. Yuuri was in short pants and a silly yellow T-shirt, chocolate ice cream smeared all over his smiling mouth. Wolf could almost taste the sweetness of it, cold and intense, as he pressed Yuuri's image to his cheek.

He kept his annoyingly damp eyes shut tight for a long moment, remembering the recent day he, too, had visited this foreign place of carnival, Yuuri close by his side on those terrifyingly wonderful rides and that odd clumsy 'car-ooo-sell', his hand tight in Wolf's own through the Tunnel of Love. Wolfram had also been given this 'ice cream' as an unexpected treat from his beloved: a creamy confection of vanilla and caramel wrapped in a still warm waffle, and Yuuri's kiss had been piercingly sweet when he shared it.

He would die if Gwendal didn't come soon; he'd expire without Yuuri close at hand. He had eyes only for a dark gaze and ebony hair… and a brilliantly sunny smile that lit up all darkness. His steadfast heart beat only for a foolish, naïve young Human, who could give them all a glorious future if he so chose. His urgent young body pined only for the gentle one who'd awakened it – longing for Yuuri's caress as much as it desired food and air and daylight and sleep in the nighttime. He would_ die_ if he didn't see Yuuri soon, if he couldn't touch him – if he couldn't be by his side forever more.

_Oh, Yuuri! Yuuri!_ Wolfram commanded fiercely to the unchanging photo before him, staring deep into the flat dark grey eyes reflected there behind the glass. _You cheating wimp!_ _You'd better be thinking of _me_!_

With a sigh, Lord von Bielefeld carefully set the ornate frame back in its place of honor and strolled over the tall window. Wistfully, he gazed down at the courtyard below, idly watching the bustle and rush of his grooms and guardsmen, preparing for the journey back to Blood Pledge three days hence.

Right at this moment, Yuuri would be with Gunter, no doubt going over the intricacies of the Maou's traditional marriage lines, rehearsing for the ceremony that would start in five days, nine hours and forty-five minutes. Weller-kyo would be off inspecting the Castle, ensuring that the preparations for the onslaught of visitors were in order; Gwendal would be issuing last-minute commands for safety and crowd control. His darling adorable Greta was no doubt prancing about in her wedding finery, for neither he nor Yuuri had been able to convince their impetuous little girl to save the all important 'Dress' for the actual date. Yosak Gurrier might be already stationed at his post, halfway between Blood Pledge and von Bielefeld, awaiting Wolfram and Gwendal with the traditional canopied tents for 'The Fiancé's Resting Ceremony' and the sumptuous and proper 'Virgin's Feast' every young Mazoku noble consumed the evening before his or her wedding, unsullied or no.

He was one of the 'sullied', Wolfram supposed, though it didn't feel that way. There was no shame in taking Yuuri within him, only joy, only comfort. If he could feel that pressure and heat right this moment, he could settle back into waiting cheerfully – but, no. The Maou's Betrothed had duties and traditions to follow – even he, especially _he_, as a von Bielefeld Lord.

There'd be two days on the road back to Blood Pledge, greeting the commoners and accepting their simple gifts, shaking hands and kissing babies. This part would crawl along at a snail's pace – he'd done the distance in less than one day on the way here - till finally he'd be back in his old bedroom at the Castle, 'rested' and ready to step into the clothes Mama and Jennifer-chan had prepared.

The Sage would give him the golden ring of Binding at the very last moment and his nervous fingers would tell the engraved script that read their names in Earth language and Mazoku over and over as he attempted to keep breathing normally; in, out, in, out. His hands would be shaking, as they shook now, curled tightly over the carved windowsill, and his chest would be constricted with longing, for until he actually saw Yuuri before him he wouldn't be able to find any ease. He'd walk slowly nonetheless, at a proper and dignified pace, down the echoing, murmuring hallways and corridors and marble staircases, till at last he could climb into the carriage that would take him to his wedding. He'd spend that brief ride praying that the purebred white horses would not stumble and the golden wheels would stay intact and that nothing would prevent him from arriving at the Original King's Castle - that _nothing _would stop this wedding from happening, for if it didn't, he'd definitely die.

He'd need help alighting from the carriage; his knees would not support him. For courage, and per tradition, his mother and Greta would be right beside him, and Jennifer-san, too. She'd shown him the ornate lavender kimono she planned to wear with many breathy giggles and squeaks of delight and then unceremoniously handed him a small gaily-wrapped package the last time he'd seen her on Earth.

_A special present_, she laughed softly, _to my new son-in-law_. _You'll never guess what it is, Wolf-chan!_ Wolf had blushed and protested he needed nothing more; she'd already given him a gift previous above rubies.

The little package was currently ensconced in the Grand Hall at Blood Pledge, along with cartloads upon cartloads of others, from kings and lords and lands even the ex-Prince Wolfram had hardly heard of, all ready to be unwrapped after they returned from their honeymoon. Wolfram had spent hours choosing the right stationery for the 'Thank you' notes, and hours more devising the core guest list. Mama had gotten hold of it after that; who knew what manner of weird people might be in attendance?

Not that it mattered – the more people to witness this Marriage, the better. The Maou's Wedding would be the most-attended event in history. And he would the star of the show, along with poor Yuuri, who absolutely hated and despised formal ceremonies.

_He'd better make sure to grab the wimp's hand as soon as he could, to give him a much-needed pinch if he faltered. It'd be just like Yuuri to screw this up!_

With an inner "Humph!" Wolfram turned from the useless window. Gwendal wouldn't arrive until late tomorrow. No use waiting for a horse that wouldn't come, was there? He'd just have to be patient, even if it killed him, which likely it would.

As for himself, he'd better get moving. The morning was half-over already and time was wasting while he daydreamed here. He'd go out for a ride right this minute and check on the new barn at the Home Farm. The tenants had nearly completed it when he last visited, in the early spring, so it should be finished by now, and full of the prized cows the Von Bielefeld's were known for breeding.

And Yuuri? Well, Yuuri had better be right there waiting for him when he got back, or he'd have to kill him as well.

*

At lunch, the Maou absentmindedly pulled out a chair for his green-eyed stickler of a fiancé and stood blankly waiting to push it in again till the Maids began to titter softly from the corners of the cavernous room. Conrad eyed him with wry amusement when Yuuri shook his head with a start and remembered finally that Wolf-chan wasn't standing right at his side, as usual.

_Like he_ should _be,_ the Maou thought, his dark eyes narrowed in annoyance as he sat down his accustomed place. _This was ridiculous! How dare they separate two people who were going to get married in less than a week? It was nerve-wracking, damn it, and absolutely the last thing he needed right now, what with the Castle in a total uproar and Greta perpetually on the ceiling!_

He needed some help here. Some peace and quiet – another nose to the grindstone! There was no way Gunter and Gwendal could expect him to do this all alone! And poor Greta, who kept bouncing into their bedroom every ten minutes all excited and starry-eyed, looking for Papa Wolf-chan – how was he supposed to explain he'd sent Papa Wolf away 'cause he_ loved_ him?

Ridiculous! He'd abolish this crap as soon as he was able, but it took _two _– the Maou _and_ his Consort – as Gunter and the rest of the Aristocrats gleefully informed him two long days ago when Wolfram was frogmarched out the door by a grinning Yosak, all of them practically cackling over the Maou's sudden quandary. Sure, he could change this stupid ritual – though the previous Maou had loved the traditional ceremonies and had even added a few of her own – but it would have to wait till there was an Official Consort to 'officially' agree with Yuuri's modifications or they wouldn't stick, damn it! Certainly, his tradition-mad Council wasn't buying into anything Yuuri had to say about it now, no matter how he used his puppydog-eyes on them.

Well, actually good old Conrad agreed with him, but unfortunately, that didn't count with the Aristocrats.

Obviously, the first thing to go in Yuuri's newly revised Marriage Agenda would be this idiotic separation clause. The next would be the enforced silence between the two unfortunate people actually getting married. Well, he'd broken that asinine tradition already – a fast horseman carried a letter each day to his fiancé and each day he received a terse note in return. How he longed for a cell phone that actually worked in Shin Makoku! The stupid things kept getting waterlogged and then they couldn't find any signal, no matter where he stood in the courtyard! It would help if he built a cell tower, he supposed, but that would have to wait till after the Wedding, which took up everyone's spare time.

Of course, these notes were hardly _love letters_, in the classically romantic sense. Not unless one found cows romantic, or the trivia Gunter kept spoonfeeding him about the 13th Maou's odd union with a mermaid – later dissolved in tears and pearls, sadly for them. Yuuri wrote about Greta and the things his scatterbrained mother did while sightseeing; Wolfram wrote concerning the worrisome state of his yearling mares and the newly developed breeding program for next season's prized heifers.

"Love, Yuuri" and "With Highest Honorable & Esteemed Regards, signed Wolfram von Bielefeld, Lord von Bielefeld, Marquis de La Romagne, Knight of the Flaming Garter, Baron Spitsburg Minor, etc., etc.," were the extent of the 'love' either participant actually mentioned. But, still, he and Wolf-chan were new to the art of expressing their feelings on paper – how could they have learned that, given how close they were normally?

Nothing about this was normal, Yuuri feared. The entire thing had been completely blown out of proportion and of course, his hands were tied. As Gunter kept telling him, what the Kingdom expected was 'Tradition' with a capital 'T' – who was he to change that? Merely the Maou, damn it!

Well, Gunter and the rest of them were in for a bit of surprise, just two days from now. Wolfram would be returning from his ancestral lands by then, escorted by his stern older brother, but nowhere did it say that the Maou couldn't ride to meet his Fiancé at the whatever-they-called-it – the 'Resting Thingy' place. Wolf-chan would probably kill him for breaking 'tradition' and they probably wouldn't get to sleep together at all, but hey, he'd be in the next tent over at least, and they could finish off this stupid 'tradition' shit together – which was the way they _should_ be doing it in the first place!

It was lonely here, damnably lonely. His heart ached as much as his bones did whenever he realized Wolf-chan wouldn't be found waiting in his bed, or practicing in the courtyard, or pacing in the study, when Yuuri was late to his lessons - boots tapping impatiently, fire in his beautiful eyes.

Fuming and finally finished toying with the main course, Yuuri arched his long spine as he waited for the next one, stretching, or trying to, with some small subtlety. All this back-and-forth to Japan was doing him in. He seemed to grow another inch every time he was over there – Murata said it was the time or age difference or something – but it was like every time he came back to Shin Makoku the tailors had to adjust his sleeve length again. And the trousers of his wedding suit had been lengthened at least three times during the year they'd spent putting this extravaganza together! No wonder he was currently – _finally!_ - taller than his Wolf-cub! _Hah!_

Not that Wolfram wasn't growing, too. He was, but at a much slower pace. Gisela said they'd likely be close to the same height again by the time they finished, but for now, at least, Yuuri was the one with the height advantage – which was very handy when they were making love. Wolf could swarm up him and wrap his legs around Yuuri's waist and then they'd—

_Making love_ made Yuuri hot under the collar; he shifted in his chair again to ease the pull of pant legs constricting him. _"Pervert!"_ Wolf-chan would yell, and fry him, or something.

How he wished Wolf-chan were here to do that – well, maybe not _that_, but _something_.

Anything to make the days go faster, to bring his beauty back again. If they ever got married again, he'd make sure they eloped immediately – not that they'd do _that_, of course, given how difficult it seemed to get married for the first time, but still…maybe on their tenth anniversary, he'd sweep Wolf-chan away to a romantic hideaway and spend all week in bed with his lover, discovering every inch of that firm flesh and silky body—

Yuuri didn't want dessert, although it was his current favorite, figgy pudding. He liked the way the Maids set it on fire before they brought it to the table – it was cool, with the flames all blue and green. Sometimes Wolfram would do the honors and then the lighting of it was just as much fun as the flambé part. But Yuuri didn't want it right _now_, that was for sure. It hadn't tasted right, not since yesterday, when the Maids produced it to buck up his flagging appetite.

Nothing had; there was this metallic tang on his tongue that seemed to settle in when he watched Wolfram ride off, trapped inside the Castle with a babbling, bloody Gunter. Quite possibly this peculiar symptom was related to the other: the horrible insomnia he'd been suffering from since Wolf-chan departed. The bed felt too big or something, though that was actually a weird idea, 'cause when Wolfram was in it, the bed was exactly the way it should be. Same with the whole bedroom, now that he came to think about it. The baths, too. And the whole damned Castle, really, which didn't have the same 'feel' it should have when a certain blonde fire-wielder was in residence. If Yuuri were a betting man, he'd swear Von Bielefeld House was probably pretty comfortable right now, nice and sunny, way out there in the rural countryside – it'd serve his advisors right if he took off to go find out!

With a silent groan, Yuuri used the edge of his spork to separate the figgy pudding into precisely nineteen parts – Cherie-sama had insisted he be served a portion and he didn't have the guts to go up against her sparkling smile and impressively daring V-necked gown. That, and Mom elbowing him hard so he'd behave properly in front of "People!"

Come to think of it, there was absolutely nothing in those Maou Marriage books Gunter kept waving under his nose that forbade him from, _ahem_, stepping out briefly and politely meeting his fiancé right there at Von Bielefeld House. They only had to physically 'separated', right? So, he could stay in the guest bedroom down the hall or something, right? That would be 'separated' enough for the official record, right, since they wouldn't be sleeping next to one another? Right?

It was only a day's ride, if he started out early enough. He wasn't as good on a horse as Wolf-chan, he knew, who could get there in less than eight hours. He'd need ten and probably have to stop a couple of times on the way. He couldn't go alone though – not one of his Advisors would ever forgive him, even if they got over Yuuri's new definition of 'separated'.

Thoughtfully, Yuuri turned his dark gaze to his godfather, who was elegantly sipping his wine and conversing quietly with Murata. Conrad could probably be convinced to go with him if he used his puppydog-eyes again, Yuuri was positive.

That left all the guests and the visiting royalty and the presents and Shori and Mom and Dad. Oops! Well…all the visitors seemed to know one another enough already and Mom was really good at making friends, even if his Dad was a little standoffish sometimes. Shori was a big boy now; he could take care of himself. Murata and Gunter and Gisela and Gwendal - um, _not_ Gwendal, since he's be leaving to meet Wolfram really soon– um, Anissina, then, and the Maids – they could handle it, no problem. And they could handle Greta, too, 'cause he couldn't take her – she'd be better off here in the safety of Blood Pledge, though it kinda annoyed him to have to leave her when she missed Papa Wolf almost as much as he did.

But, um, if he got there before Gwendal did, then he could sneak into Wolf-chan's room and say "Hi!" in peace and quiet, with no yelling or nasty cold glares to make him cower and look like a wimp in front of his uppity fiancé.

Somehow, the three sips of after-dinner brandy he was allowed by Gunter tasted better than anything he had swallowed all day – for two whole days, damn it! Yuuri found he had a little smile on his face now – a dangerous one, if any of his advisors had noticed other than the exceptionally noticing Conrad. Greta's bedtime story was consequently very long, and Yuuri did all the voices Wolf-chan usually did: the brave Prince and the uppity Princess trapped in her tower and the old crone who kept them apart till the Prince and his Magic Steed triumphed at the very end. She got extra hugs, too, enough to last her till both Papas returned home.

*

A startling new tradition was established early in the long and illustrious reign of the 27th Maou: the romantic 'Mini Elopement' ritual he and his Consort daringly popularized in the midst of the final Separation bit of the excessively long-winded business of a Royal Marriage. No longer did an impatient groom or bride have to wait about, thumbs up their respective asses, till they were officially allowed to see one another again at the ceremony. No longer did they have to sit in silence, hoping their affianced hadn't found someone more interesting in their absence. No, they were emancipated ever after, free to get an early start on producing heirs or heiresses, free to love as they would.

_The Emancipation Proclamation_, Chief Etiquette Advisor Lord Gunter von Kleist called it for short, though the real name was actually some twenty-seven syllables longer. After the Wedding, the Consort gave it his wholehearted blessing and it became a new Law.

END


End file.
